Black Poetry : the art never dies

Discussion in 'Black Poetry - Get Your Flow On!' started by daroc, Aug 15, 2009.

  1. daroc

    daroc Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Inspired by the works,beauty, and excellence of Miya Bailey. Google him..

    He draws his dreams into existence
    Sketching his hopes
    Through tips built on passion and faith
    A haunting habit that his soul breathes
    Necessary feed, he bleeds,images
    How deep
    Each sight creates each masterpiece
    Collisions and barricades of passion,love&pain
    Life without would be meaningless
    Love without would be worthless
    Value is bestowed in his worth(work):
    Greatness.
    Blank slates, create outlets of space
    Visionary guided by forces,
    Natural movements.
    With each blink, seconds spent closed canvas,Sketch book:dream land imagined;becomes.
    Reality is rested in his ideals.
    Bound by lines, colors, shapes, the feel.
    Emotions manifested, observations
    Of your passion touch many
    Influence action
    Retrace universal emotion:
    Compassion
    Desire
    &need.
    Close to heart, capturing each pump of life
    Limited by time,
    Yet available
    The art never dies.
    Production of perfection at war with priorities
    And perception of loving art more
    Than those tangible.
    But: the obsession is within each breath.
    And so it is within:
    Public viewings, soul etched on all to see
    Public feelings
    Admired publically
    Yet, only needing affirmation and confirmation
    Within. mentally.
    Always hungry,
    Starving artist appetite despite years invested
    Misunderstood by the desires of man
    Aggression against time
    Begging not to be wasted, spent in vain
    Lost in the concept of creation.
    Conscious controls living. All that is thought, is, and will be.
    And he begins without instruction
    Guided by movement
    Requested by many
    Misunderstood by plenty
    Placing blame on man
    For being only human
    Admired, even envied for his craft.
    Refreshing, eternal soul starving to be full
    Yet exposed
    Releasing visions, filling holes
    But still left incomplete...
    Just breathing...
    With each sigh: inhale, exhale- relief.
    As he draws his dreams into existence
    With each movement comes inspiration
    This haunting habit that has his soul
    Breathes within him.. The art
    Deep sigh: inhale, exhale, -relief.
     
  2. HODEE

    HODEE Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    Thank You Sister daroc

    The art never dies
    As long as blood flows in the veins and the eyes are open
    The art never dies
    Even after the artist is gone
    His / her inspiration carries others into creation.
    The art never dies.
     
  3. baller

    baller Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    O, such a wonderful tribute. i knew someone like this...

    He draws his dreams into existence
    Sketching his hopes on makeshift canvases
    Where passions wit
    Is his greatest fame
    His name
    Synonymous with artistry’s game

    He graces
    Pages
    Of infinite ages
    Where whispered
    Brush-stroked-captured-imagined images
    Find their premises
    Within the deep crevices
    Of an art-filled mind

    Misunderstood and maligned
    By selfish man
    But his fans
    Are dedicated for life
    Through the toils of his strife
    And all the exposed blight
    That life has to offer

    He draws his dreams into existence
    Where listless imaginings
    Come to life

    He draws
     
  4. queentswana

    queentswana Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    The 'art may rest, take a break, a pause, ...yes, that's ever so true....The 'art never dies.
    Excellent piece poet!!
     
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